 | Songs and poems (1909) |  |
183
THE LUTE-PLAYER
O Day, come unto me,
Fair and so sweet!
Crown'd shalt thou be,
And with wing'd feet
Escape the invading sea,
Whose bitter line
Follows o'erfleet.
What joy thou would'st is thine:
Life is divine,
O Fair and Sweet!
Fair and so sweet!
Crown'd shalt thou be,
And with wing'd feet
Escape the invading sea,
Whose bitter line
Follows o'erfleet.
What joy thou would'st is thine:
Life is divine,
O Fair and Sweet!
Death is a paltry thought:
A little troublous thing—
An insect's sting!
Beautiful Day, oh, heed it not!
Surely I hear the rumour of thy feet,
And Death is vain—draw near, draw near!—
Alas! and is it so? Farewell, O Fair and Sweet,
For Death is here.
A little troublous thing—
An insect's sting!
Beautiful Day, oh, heed it not!
Surely I hear the rumour of thy feet,
And Death is vain—draw near, draw near!—
Alas! and is it so? Farewell, O Fair and Sweet,
For Death is here.
| Songs and poems (1909) | |